


Of Final Thoughts

by Rumpels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: HPFT, Dark, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels/pseuds/Rumpels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I always knew you'd die trying to save the world, and I also knew that I would be first.</p><p>Character Vignette: Caradoc Dearborn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Final Thoughts

The gentle clanking of glasses and flurries of slurred voices carry through the night air.

Your hand settles on my shoulder as you tell me, “Get some rest, lad.”

Too drunk to argue, I do as you say – like I always ultimately do, because you're always right – and I leave.

But those are just memories, now.

“Get some rest, lad.”

You've probably noticed that I'm missing by now; I'm sure it's been more than a day since I last saw you. It could be weeks or months, for all I know. There are no windows here, no sunlight to track the days here, though I'm fairly uncertain as to where 'here' is, exactly. A basement, most likely. The darkness blinds me, but the ground beneath me is hard and smooth, flawed only by the sharp shards of something I'd broken as I stumbled through the blackness. It's damp and always frigid, and all I can bother to think about is how hungry I am. How long has it been?

You've probably noticed that I'm missing by now because you never did trust me enough to leave me alone for more than a day, despite how much I always looked up to you. You were always like a brother to me – I would never betray you, by my words were only just that: words. You've never really trusted anyone, though, have you? That trait of yours has certainly saved your life a few dozen times, hasn't it? Maybe it's not the worst way to live your life, not trusting anybody...even me.

Maybe that's why you love that eye of yours so much. Nobody can hide anything from you now, can they? Now you don't even have to open my mail when you think I'm not looking. Well, I suppose it will have to be somebody else's mail now. I'm not coming back from this one, Alastor, but you'll figure that out soon enough.

It was my fault that you lost your eye in the first place, wasn't it? I'd almost forgotten. It was foolish of you to take that curse for me, but you always did have my back. I was never strong like you. I was never clever like you. I would have never been half the Auror you are. My sacrifice will be better for everyone – what's one small casualty in the midst of war, right? What does my life matter other than protecting the Order, to stop the Dark Lord? It just doesn't. My life is so trivial in comparison to everything else. If I can do just this one thing with my life, to protect the Order, then I'll know that I was able to do something useful. All of your hard work won't be in vain, Alastor.

“Get some rest, lad.”

I was too drunk to notice any of the signs that I was in danger that night, but I should have known better. You taught to take notice of things like that – the unlocked door, though I was certain I'd lock up behind me, the way the blinds laid half-closed and lopsided in the window, the disgruntled noises that damned owl you gave me kept making, ruffling its feathers to boot, the sofa's position half-an-inch away from where it normally was – but I ignored them.

I don't even know which of the Death Eater's hit me, or with what curse, but they have me now. Caradoc Dearborn, Prisoner of War. I wonder if you'll ever find out what truly happened to me. A part of me hopes that you do, so you'll know that I didn't betray you. I wouldn't. They want information, that's all I've been useful for. The things they've done to me – the things they'll continue to do to me – to force that information from me.... Well, it doesn't matter; I'll never talk anyway.

You know as well as I do that they won't kill me until they get their information about the Order, which will put all of you in danger. Unfortunately, there are ways to make me give crucial information that will be beyond my control. So, I know what I must do.

“Get some rest, lad.”

The first time I heard your voice again was when the thought first crossed my mind. I thought that you were trying to talk me out of it. I thought you'd say it was a coward's way out; I thought you'd say that I should try to fight, to escape, to make it back alive. You know that I'll never escape; I'm not strong like you are, clever like you are. Torture won't be enough to satisfy them soon, Alastor. They want information, and I know too much.

I'm so tired, Alastor.

I'm so hungry.

I'm so weak, Alastor, but you've always known that about me.

You discovered that about me the first day of Auror training, didn't you? You had both of your eyes then, and both of your legs – but that was my fault, too. My skill was lacking in comparison to others, but my cocky hardheadedness prevented me from listening – I never listened. You hated that about me. You said my technique was sloppy and my skill was mediocre at best. I despised you and naturally did everything in my ability to spite your command. They said you were the best, and you were. Still are.

I was so stupid, and I know that now. We're at war and all I could ever think to do was fight you. Headlines were just stories, and they rarely hit close-to-home. It wasn't until that first attack that I truly understood just how damn stupid I was actually being. I would have died then, and maybe it would have been better if I had, but you were there. Suddenly, anything I felt against you didn't matter anymore, did it? Not in the face of Death Eaters; not while watching friends fall around me, dying because I couldn't bring myself to defend them, or myself for that matter.

But you were there. I swear that you were in at least seven different places at once. You had their backs and you had mine. The moment you stepped next to me to defend me, I realized that I could do it, I could survive, we all could survive. I had to try. Your training, all of the tips and tricks you gave me to help me succeed, came flooding back to me. Together I thought we couldn't be stopped.

When they fled, you turned to me and nodded. That single bit of affirmation was all I needed to realize that everything would be different from that point forward.

And it was.

I listened to you, and I got better. I was better. You quickly became my best friend, Alastor, and I'll never forget you. I always knew that you'd die trying to save the world, and I realized that I would be first. I just didn't realize that it would be at my own hand. But it's okay.

Now I realize that hearing your voice wasn't a sign of your disapproval, but a gentle nudge in the direction I know I have to take. It's better for all of us – the members of the Order – because secrets will be safe, and you can continue to fight the Dark Lord. We can win this, Alastor, and I know what I have to do to make sure that can happen. I won't be a traitor. I'll die a martyr.

“Get some rest, lad.”

It will be like falling asleep, I'm sure of it. It will be okay.

You never did approve of the way we all celebrated minor victories in the wake of the war. We needed them, though. We all needed to come together with good cheer, and drink our fears away. Of course, I should have listened to you, I learned that I long time ago. But I didn't. That's why I'm here now.

Why can't I just listen?

It's okay, though, because I'm a fairly insignificant pawn in this ridiculous war, aren't I? What does it matter if I die, as long as I don't hurt the Order. It's for the best, I know. I just wish that I could speak with you for a moment, so that you could reassure me that this isn't all in vain – that my death will be for the best. I tried to put myself in your shoes, I tried to figure out what you would do if you were in my position. The ultimate result was, of course, that you would never be in my position. You would have never been so foolish.

I don't think I'm ready to die, Alastor, but who is ever ready? I knew it would happen, probably while fighting this war, but I thought it would be quick. I thought I would be hit with the killing curse, Avada'd into serenity. I wasn't prepared to make this decision on my own. I'm lacking alternative options. If I stay alive, then they'll use any means to obtain any information I know – Imperio or Veritaserum or whatever the hell they have in mind for me – and they'll just kill me anyway. I can't escape, I've tried.

What other choice to I have?

Are you going to believe that I was a coward and fled? Will you think that I'm a traitor and switched sides? Will you hate me? I laugh because I know you'd say, “What the hell does it matter what I think? What matters is what you've done, not what everyone else thinks you've done.” But it does matter. It has always mattered. I want you to trust me, but I don't think that will ever happen. Maybe, one day if you ever discover what's happened to me, you'll trust me then. There's no reason not to trust a dead man.

I should get on with it, Alastor. Sitting here talking to you isn't going to change anything, and it certainly won't give me answers. All I'm doing is wasting precious time before the Death Eaters return. How can I possible face my own death? How can I face this, knowing I'm ending everything by my own hand? I feel as if I need to tell you something, but I can't seem to figure out what it is.

What could I possibly say? That I don't want to die? That I want to be at your side, fighting. My fight's over, Alastor.

I just want to thank you for everything that you've done for me. I want to thank you for making me stronger, for giving me strength to make this choice to begin with.

I'll never forget you. Will you forget me? If you do end up hating me, then I suppose that I won't be forgotten. Nobody wants to be forgotten, but I don't want to be remembered as a coward or a traitor. I want to be remembered as Caradoc Dearborn, friend and loyal soldier for the Order of the Phoenix.

Please, let it not be in vain.

“Get some rest, lad.”


End file.
